


Familiar

by Sam_Eller



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Impala, Pre-Series, Protective Dean, Teenchesters, sam and dean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-12 12:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Eller/pseuds/Sam_Eller
Summary: An unpreventable accident leaves Sam drowning in guilt - thankfully, Dean has an unending supply of life preservers made specially for little-trouble-magnet-brothers. Pre-series. Teenchesters. Hurt/Guilty/Sam and Protective/Big Brother/Dean.





	1. Chapter 1

Note: This fic has a connection to _Frostbite_ (which I swear I'm still working on) and _A New Kind of Evil_ (which is the next of my multi-chapter fics to be updated - hopefully in a couple weeks if things go my way) - said connections are in no way detrimental to the story, it can be perfectly enjoyed as a stand-alone.

* * *

"Where the hell are you?"

Sam flinched at his brother's greeting before bracing himself, aware that the older boy's anger was soon to escalate.

"Sam! I've been waiting for an hour and it's fucking freezing out here."

The younger boy sucked in a shaky breath, knowing Dean required a response.

That he deserved a response.

No matter how furious it was about to make him.

Because Sam didn't know that it had been an hour, but he did know that he was late picking up his big brother from work and that the reason for his tardiness would infuriate Dean all the more.

Sam was terrified.

Terrified of the pain he could feel thrumming through his body.

Terrified of the lost time he was unable to account for.

Terrified of the mistake he had made.

Terrified of Dean's anger.

Most of all, Sam was terrified of disappointing his big brother.

Again.

"Sam? What's going on, buddy? Talk to me."

The teenager quirked a small smile, because of course the simple act of breathing had been enough to set off Dean's sixth sense.

"I'm sorry." He choked out. It wasn't what he had meant to say. He wanted to explain the situation and maybe help Dean understand just a little, but Sam couldn't seem to stop apologizing. "I'm so sorry, De. I'm sorry."

"Hey, calm down, Sammy. Tell me what's going on."

Sam tried to ground himself in his brother's words, the soft tone and childhood nickname easing some of the teen's anxieties. He tried for a deep inhale, but his breath hitched as pain seared through his left shoulder.

"Talk to me, kiddo."

The younger Winchester could hear his brother pacing, he could picture Dean standing out front of the grocery store - where he got a job stocking shelves – with the collar turned up on his leather jacket and one hand in his pocket while the other clutched his cellphone.

_Dean must be cold,_ Sam thought distractedly, seeing how dark it was outside and knowing that the store would be closed by now. He was in the car, protected from the wind and he still felt cold right down to his bones, so Dean must be freezing.

And it was Sam's fault.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, voice cracking. He wasn't sure if the warm moisture sliding down his cheeks was tears or blood, perhaps it was both. The pain coursing through him and the emotion flowing over him was all overwhelming, reducing the mature teenager to nothing more than a weeping child.

"For what, Sam? What are you sorry for?" The twenty-year-old's tone was stern, but maintained its soft edge, equal parts demanding and pleading.

It was so Dean.

"I didn't see it. I'm sorry. I stopped when I saw it, but it was too late. I wrecked it. I'm so sorry." Sam sobbed, hiccupping in anguish as his body shuttered – be it from the cold or physical pain, he wasn't certain.

"Wrecked what?" Dean asked, sounding nothing but concerned.

Sam bit down on his bottom lip, knowing the truth had to be announced, but terrified of the repercussions it would bring.

_God, please don't let him hate me_ , Sam thought as he struggled to make his confession.

"I'm lost here, bro. Help me out. What do you keep apologizing for? What got wrecked?"

The older boy was using his calming-Sam-the-hell-down tone of voice, which never failed to work to some degree, if only because it was so damn familiar.

"The car." Sam whispered, inwardly bracing himself for his brother's reaction.

There was a moment of silence, one that both felt far too short and frighteningly long.

"This better be a dumb-ass prank."

Dean sounded lethal. The teen winced, swallowing thickly, his fear and anxiety mounting high enough to distract him from the agony coursing through his veins.

"I'm sorry. You let me borrow her and I messed up. I really messed up."

"You're damn right you messed-up. What the fuck, Sam? I trusted you with my car for five goddamn minutes and you wreck her? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Sam bit down harder to halt his bottom lip from trembling, blinking rapidly to keep his tears from falling, ignoring the temptation to distance the phone from his face; he had no right to avoid his brother's fury, because he had earned it. Dean already had so little. He had next to nothing and whatever he did have he often shared with Sam.

The Impala was Dean's baby. It was his treasure. One of his most prized possessions.

And Sam had destroyed it.

"I'm sorry, Dean." He insisted past the growing lump in his throat, a wave of despair crashing into him as he realized the weight of the damage he had caused.

"Sorry doesn't fix my fucking car." Dean growled.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry." The younger boy pleaded, swiping away the liquid dripping into his eyes, distractedly glancing at his hand and seeing bright red smeared across it. "I'll pay to get it fixed, Dean. I promise."

"With what, Sam? You got a few grand stashed away?" Dean spat.

Sam dropped his pulsing head tiredly against the seat, bringing it back up a blink later and dropping it down onto his chest, so as not to get blood on the upholstery – he had done enough damage.

Dean was right, Sam had next to no money to his name, the few savings he had were spent on his big brother's present several weeks ago. They had spent Christmas and all the holiday break with Bobby and had just been picked-up by John and moved to a new town last week. There had been a quick hunt on the weekend and then their father had taken off to aid a fellow hunter in the chase of yet another monster, one that he deemed too dangerous for either of his son's to be a part of. The eldest Winchester had been hunting non-stop for the past few months and hadn't had much cash to leave behind for the boys, so Dean got a job at the grocery store (one of the only places in town work could be found), while Sam occupied himself with school. The teenager had offered to pick-up some part time work, but his older brother had declared it unnecessary and insisted Sam focus on school, which is what he had been doing when everything went to shit.

Sam had been working on a group project with some other kids, Dean had let him take the car because the town was too small to have a bus system or taxi service, yet still too vast to get around easily. The twenty-year-old hadn't wanted Sam walking out in the freezing cold all the way to the library, which was hours from the little one-bedroom cabin they were renting on the outskirts of town, especially not after both brothers had taken an unplanned-polar-ice-dip at Bobby's - which they were both still recovering from. Sam had driven the car to the library after dinner and had promised to be back in front of the grocery store by ten to pick Dean up.

The teen had sworn that he would take care of the Impala, he had driven slow and extremely cautious to and from the library. Unfortunately, not all the other drivers on the road had taken those same precautions.

"Sam, answer me!"

The volume of his brother's demand returned Sam's attention to the phone clutched in his vibrating hand.

"Sorry." He mumbled, fighting to focus. "What was the question?" He asked, struggling not to slur and to keep his teeth from chattering as the cold began to invade his senses.

"What the fuck happened to my car?" Dean growled, sounding far from pleased to be repeating himself, not to mention livid over the entire situation.

"I didn't see it. It came out of nowhere." Sam responded, squinting as he worked to recall the origins of the accident, the pounding in his noggin doing a great deal to impede his thought process.

"You jacked-up my baby by hitting some dumb fucking animal?"

Sam automatically shook his head, wincing the moment he moved it and biting back a groan.

"No." Was all he could get out past the agony screaming through his skull.

"So, what then? Did you wreck my car swerving from it? You better not be telling me you ran the Impala off the road to keep from hitting a damn bunny, because I swear to god, Sam, if—

"I didn't hit 'nothin. It hit me." The teen defended lamely. He knew it didn't really matter who hit who, either way the Impala was a mess; but he thought maybe Dean would hate him a little less if he knew it wasn't all Sam's fault.

Maybe.

"What hit you? Did a deer charge the car or something?"

Sam shivered in the cold, swallowing a gasp as his shoulder cried out in anguish, pain blazing all the way down his left arm to the tips of his fingers.

Shaking his head hurt.

Shivering hurt.

Breathing hurt.

He was in so much pain. He didn't want to be in the car anymore, or out in the cold. He didn't want to be on some backroad in some nameless town. He didn't want to be a hunter. He didn't want anything, except Dean.

All Sam wanted was his brother.

Even if Dean hated him and was going to yell and lecture him, even if he gave Sam the silent treatment for the rest of the week. Sam didn't care, he would take a furious big brother over anything or anyone else in the world.

"Sammy! What hit you?"

From his tone, the injured driver could tell that was not Dean's first or second time asking the same question.

"Was it a deer? I know there are some farms out that way too. Was it livestock?"

Sam twitched the phone away from his ear as his brother's voice escalated in frustration and amplified the pain thundering through his brain.

"Wasn't an'mal. S'a truck." Sam mumbled, shutting his eyes as he recalled the sudden flash of headlights, followed by the deafening screech of metal that filled the air as a surge of agony inflamed his being, before his world went blessedly dark.

"A what? A truck? Did you get hit by a fucking truck?"

Sam cringed at the volume of the question, but couldn't begrudge his brother the outburst upon hearing the panic in his tone.

"S'not a big truck. S'a pic'up."

"That wasn't the goddamn point, Sam. Where are you?" Dean demanded, outrage and panic giving way to a familiar anger.

Sam twitched a smile, Dean's fear often disguised itself in anger.

A lot of people didn't get that, even Dad sometimes, but Sam understood. He could always see what was hidden beneath his big brother's armor of fury, be it desperation, embarrassment, sorrow, or terror. Whatever it was Dean was masking with anger, Sam could see it.

Because he had been studying Dean his entire life, trying to be just like him.

Sam knew his big brother, better than anyone else in the whole world.

And the edge in the older boy's voice, the depth of his tone – that wasn't anger; it was concern and it was fear, and it was the thing that filled Sam with more gratitude and love than he could handle in his current state.

"Sam? Where are you? Answer me, now."

The teen sniffled, trying and failing to reign in his unruly emotions. He strained to concentrate on the voice prompting him through the phone, but it was so damn hard. He was cold and everything hurt so much, breathing was enough of a chore, he couldn't possibly be expected to focus as well?

"Sammy? Come on, kiddo. Just tell me where you're at."

An order the teen could have ignored, he was an expert at that - much to his father's disgrace - but a soft appeal was something Sam had no power against, especially when it came from his big brother.

"Back road we took cupla' days ago."

"The one that goes around the outside of the town?"

"Yeah. At the in'section afta' the bridge. Cross from the – the fact'ry. You 'member?" He queried, hoping Dean could recall the large building Sam had pointed out to him the first time they had driven down the backroad, in an effort to avoid the evening traffic.

"Of course, I remember. You wouldn't shut up about the vehicle crap they do at that dump."

"Ford truck 'sembly, mostly." Sam mumbled absently.

"Yeah-yeah-yeah, whatever." Dean dismissed with a snort, the sound that always meant he was equal parts impressed and annoyed by his little brother's endless supply of fun facts.

Sam tried and failed to quell a shiver that raced its way through his limbs, he also failed to swallow back the moan of pain that sounded from his throat in response to the slight movement of his shoulder.

There didn't seem to be much the teen wasn't failing to accomplish today.

"Sammy? How bad are you hurt, little brother?"

The question was soft and gruff, and though Sam was trying his best to keep from enlisting Dean's concern, he would be lying if he didn't confess his big brother's worry made him feel all warm and gooey inside.

"M'okay." He slurred, watching distractedly as flakes of snow landed on the spider-cracked windshield.

"Bullshit. I know you're not okay, I can hear it. What I need to know is if you can wait for me to get there, or if I should be calling an ambulance. You need to be honest with me."

"No. No amb'lance. S'fine. I'll wait."

"Yeah, sure, the slur you've adopted makes me feel super confident about that." Dean snorted, but he made no further argument on the matter. Sam was surprised his brother was still trusting him after what he had done. He had promised not to damage the Impala and he'd fucked that up. He would understand if his brother never trusted him again, but Dean was already trusting him. He was trusting Sam to be honest about the severity of his injuries and the last thing the teenager wanted was for his brother to arrive on the scene and feel as though he had been betrayed.

"Think I broke m'shoulder." Sam stated, making an effort to keep his voice clear as he portrayed the truth of the situation. He didn't want to lie to Dean, especially not after the older boy chose to trust him so soon after Sam's colossal fuck-up.

"Alright, buddy, try and keep it immobile until I get there. What else?" The twenty-year-old asked, sounding calm, cool, and collected – the way he always was in an emergency.

Sam sucked in a breath, doing his best to focus and report a proper triage of the damage, when he heard the sound of an engine starting up over the phone and a muttered exclamation of success come for his brother.

"You stealing a car?" He inquired.

"Yup." Dean chirped shamelessly.

"Shouldn't do that." The teen sighed.

"I don't have a whole lot of choice here, bro. There's no taxis in this runt of a town and there's no way in hell I am going to waste time walking out to you."

"But, De—

"I know, I know. Your precious moral code doesn't agree with hot-wiring. Well, I hate to break it to you, dude, but I don't much give a shit about your delicate sensibilities right now."

Sam dropped his head back down against his chest as he breathed slow and shallow and used his limited energy to think his way around his big brother's defenses.

"S'not what I meant." He murmured, still struggling to organize his thoughts, the cold and pain dominating his body's senses making it difficult for him to concentrate. "Don't wan' you t'get caught."

"Sam, I've done this a dozen times, I know what I'm doing." Dean dismissed, sounding more than a little insulted.

"Gud, cause f'ya get caught I can't help 'ya. Then I'll be all 'lone. I don't wanna be 'lone." Sam confessed, too out of it to censor his fear.

He hadn't realized the weight of what he had said until there was nothing but the hush of exhalations sounding through the phone.

It took several moments before Dean's steady response filled the silence. "There were no cameras on the street where I jacked it, no one is around, and I've got my gloves on so there's no prints to worry about."

"Kay." Sam breathed, trusting his brother. He knew that even if Dean wouldn't be safe and cautious for himself, he would be for Sam. That's just how his big brother was.

It was how he had always been, for as long as Sam could remember.

It was something about Dean that frustrated the teen, but Sam could never hold it against his brother, because it was who he was and not only had it saved the youngest Winchester more times than he could count, but it made him feel more love than he could ever begin to quantify.

"I won't get caught. You won't be alone, Sammy." The reassurance was given softly but surely and left Sam with no choice but to believe every word.

"Kay, De." The teen whispered, his eyes falling closed as he shivered.

"Hey, I asked you a question before our little debate over my criminal behaviour, you never answered."

Sam opened his eyes simply to squint in confusion. "Wha' was the 'estion?" The slur in his voice becoming heavier with each sentence.

"What else is wrong with you? What else hurts?"

Sam watched the falling snow, thinking that Dean had never posed such a question and must have been mistaken.

"Sam? Come on, dude, front and center."

The teen didn't feel the need to respond to the order, he never had, he wasn't a soldier; but his big brother's pleading tone did tug at Sam's heart and force a reply out of him.

"M' ribs. Hurts t' breathe."

"That explains the short sentences." The elder Winchester muttered, more to himself than any present company. "What else?"

"M' head." Sam mumbled, reaching shaky fingers up to tentatively wipe the moisture from his eyes, before pulling them away and detachedly staring at the red liquid that painted them.

"Fuck."

The curse was spat viciously, but Sam took no offense. He knew that Dean was just worried about him, which made the teenager feel surprisingly fortunate. He had often taken his big brother's endless worry for his wellbeing for granted, but he had been so worried after crashing the car that the older boy would hate him, which made Dean's concern nothing but comforting – even when it arrived dressed in fury.

"Sam! You listening to me?"

The youngest Winchester snapped to attention, the impatient holler echoing through the phone telling him that he must have zoned out for more than a moment.

"S'ry."

Dean huffed a relieved and partially annoyed sound, before the teen could hear him sucking in a deep inhale. "Don't be sorry. Just try and stay with me. Alright?"

"Kay Dean." Sam whispered, widening his eyes in a pathetic attempt to wake himself up.

"That's my boy."

The praise was quiet and gruff, but it still meant the world to the youngest Winchester. He hoped that Dean would still feel the same towards his kid brother after seeing the state of his car. Sam hadn't been able to get a full view of the damage himself, but from where he sat he knew it was bad. He had tried to get a good look at the mess that he had made, but his foot was wedged between the concaved driver's door and the floor of the now tarnished vehicle.

"Som'thin wrong with m' foot." He pondered aloud.

"Is it broken?"

"Don't know. S'cold." He shivered as he watched the snow begin to accumulate on the Impala's black hood.

"I know, kiddo. We'll get you warmed up in no time. I'm almost there, just hold on a little longer."

"Okay." Sam whispered, dropping his noggin back against the headrest, internally apologizing for the blood that was probably dripping onto the upholstery.

He was so tired.

The pain that had awoken him and dominated his focus had faded and left him feeling cold and detached.

"Sam, tell me about your foot. What's wrong with it?"

"Stuck. I tried t'get out afta' I woke up. Couldn't get out."

"Woke up? You were unconscious?"

Sam knew that he was inadvertently frightening his older brother, but he was too exhausted and too out of it to even attempt a well-meaning fabrication.

"Think so. After th' crash. Not sure tho' it's hazy. Don't 'member. Sorry, De. I wrecked it. M' so sorry. It's all m' fault." Sam didn't realize he was crying until the warm salty liquid dripped off the edge of his nose.

"Hey, it's alright. Take it easy, Sammy. We'll figure it out, okay?"

Sam nodded slightly, causing the phone to shift from where it was wedged between his face and shoulder.

The teen lost some time after that. Dean continued to talk in his ear, but he could no longer connect the older boy's words together. He was soothed by the comfort of his big brother's voice and allowed himself to drift.

Sam was startled back to full awareness by the sudden appearance of blinding headlights, the cell phone falling to the floor as his head came up off his shoulder. He closed his eyes as the brightness bursting through the dark escalated the searing pain in his skull.

He couldn't see anything past the glare of the lights, but he prayed that it was his brother who was approaching. He heard the vehicle's engine switch off and with it went the bright illumination. He heard squeal of the door's hinges, but never heard the resounding slam he was expecting. The next sound was even closer and one the teenager was far more familiar with; the click of the Impala's passenger door being opened.

"Hiya Sammy."

Sam's lips twitched up at the classic greeting.

He didn't know why his brother wasn't furious, he had no doubt acquired a good look at his busted-up car. He should be raging and hollering, and giving Sam the firm reprimand he more than deserved. Instead, Dean's tone was soft as he quietly climbed into the battered vehicle. Sam figured he must look to be in a particularly pitiful state if he could so much as compete with the wrecked Impala for his brother's attention.

"How you doing, little man?" The inquiry was accompanied by the squeak of leather as Dean slid across the front bench seat.

"M'kay."

"Ha. Funny. Tell me another." Dean deadpanned.

Sam tracked the older boy lazily with his eyes as the long body contorted itself to fit in close. Dean's back was against the dashboard, his long legs bent at odd angles as he positioned himself to face the teenager who was wedged into the corner of the driver's seat.

"Alright, let me take a look at you."

Sam sat patiently as his brother triaged him. He winced as Dean felt his way down his leg, discovering his trapped food. He zoned out for a moment while his big brother tried to get him unstuck, until gentle prodding at his ribs had Sam sucking in a sharp inhale and twitching away from the harsh discomfort.

"Easy, Sam. Take it easy."

The soothingly familiar tone allowed Sam to still, but he remained tense as Dean proceeded to trace his chest.

Searching for broken bones.

The examination of his right side went smoothly, but when the prodding moved to the left the teen cried out as pain erupted through his frame, a feeling he knew to be birthed by a rib giving-way; however, the avalanche of agony was so much stronger than Sam ever remembered a busted bone being.

"Stop. Please stop." Sam pleaded as he brought his good arm up to protect his abdomen from his brother's persistent touch.

"I'm done. Alright? No more, just relax." Dean placated, his hands up in surrender.

"Fuck." The younger boy choked out, blinking the tears of pain from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." His brother whispered through that familiarly gruff yet sympathetic tone, as Sam felt a pair of calloused thumbs wipe the moisture off his cheeks.

"S'okay." He stated, knowing Dean was not to blame. He wasn't the one who totaled the damn car. Once the tears were gone and his sight was no longer distorted by moisture collecting in his eyes, Sam watched his brother shrug out of his leather jacket and couldn't withhold a sigh as the warm material was wrapped around him.

"Just try and keep still, I'm going to check on that thick skull of yours." Dean narrated softly, as he raised to his knees, his hair brushing the roof as he examined the left side of Sam's head – where all the blood had originated from, the blood Sam knew had matted his brown locks and dripped down his face.

The teen did his best not to move or flinch away from the assiduoustouch.

"Shit, Sammy. You've damn near scalped yourself." The fear in Dean's voice was so strong it was damn near potent.

"M'okay." Sam rasped, trying to swallow down the anguish pulsing up through his chest and uniting with the throbbing in his shoulder; all that in addition to the hammering in his brain was overwhelming the youngest Winchester. In an effort to avoid a full-blown panic attack, Sam forced himself to focus on something other than the agony consuming him. He opened his eyes and stared at the small pendant dangling in front of his face.

The amulet.

Without even intending to, Sam was soon reaching forward with his right hand, curling his slender fingers around the small charm - feeling its familiar points and curves pressing into his palm as he grasped it.

He didn't release it, not when Dean's prodding had him gasping or when the older boy put an end to the head examination and returned to eye level, not when an impossibly hard shiver tore right through him, or when his brother whispered soft reassurances; not even when it became increasingly difficult to breathe or when he could hear sirens blaring in the distance.

Through it all, Sam's grip on the golden trinket never altered.

"Am'blance?" He slurred, cracking open eyes he hadn't known were closed.

"Yeah, buddy, I called them as soon as I saw the car. I don't know what took them so fucking long to show-up." Dean grunted, as he tugged the leather jacket closer together around Sam, careful of the teenager's injuries. The older boy placed one large calloused hand around the back of the teen's neck, squeezing gently as his other hand rested on Sam's right collarbone.

"S' it that bad?" Sam asked, knowing the car must have been in a truly desperate state if just the sight of it had been enough for Dean to call in reinforcements.

" _You're_ that bad. You're a mess, Sammy. You're wedged in here, your foot is stuck, there's blood all over you head – I can barely see the wound past all that damn hair – your shoulder is broken, I don't even know how many of your ribs are busted up, your breathing sounds like shit, and you're fucking freezing." The older boy added as another hard shiver tore through Sam's thin frame.

Dean's green eyes were glowing through the dark, alight with fear, the youngest Winchester felt another spark of guilt flare through him. His big brother was never afraid, but Sam had done something to make him that way.

The teen was desperate to fix the mess he had made; and while he couldn't do anything about the vehicle he had destroyed, or the fact that he had left Dean out in the freezing cold for an hour, and though he wasn't able to un-wedge himself, Sam needed to do _something_ to erase his big brother's fear. He worked to even out his breathing, closing his eyes to focus, hoping that if he could get enough oxygen that would help dissipate some of the pain that was holding onto him and in turn, that would aid in easing a fraction of Dean's anxieties.

The younger boy's upper body exploded in agony as he attempted to fill his lungs. He cried out as his ribs shifted in his chest, contracting and restricting his lungs even more. The pain was excruciating, but the terror of not being able to inhale enough oxygen was impossibly worse.

"Dean." Sam wheezed, his heart thudding violently in panic. He felt his brother's touch strengthening and moving, growing more persistent. He watched the twenty-year-old's mouth moving, but was unable to hear anything past the blaring ring in his ears – or was that sirens?

Then, suddenly, Dean's reassuring touch vanished, which left Sam drifting without his anchor. He snapped his eyes open only to find someone he didn't recognise, someone who was speaking to him, but the teen didn't bother trying to interpret the words, because all he wanted was his brother.

He opened his mouth to call out for Dean, but his words were stolen as cold hands manipulated him and caused pain to erupt from his shoulder and race through his body. He thought he screamed for his brother before the world went black, but perhaps that was just in his head.

The next thing Sam knew, he was coming to in a hospital. He knew that before he was even able to crawl through the fog in his mind. He had woken up in a medical facility more times than he could begin to calculate, so much so that it was becoming down-right routine. The beep of the heart monitor, the scuffing of feet, the distant drone of voices, the weighted feeling of his limbs, were all too familiar – the underlying chemical sent of the oxygen mask was a little less so.

It was the older boy's face that was there to greet Sam once he had pried his eyelids open. Dean was seated in a chair next to the hospital bed, slumped forward with his arms and head on the mattress. One of his hands was wrapped around Sam's and his face was angled towards the teen, even in sleep it was lined with concern, looking far older than Dean's twenty years – something else that was becoming much too familiar. Sam knew that was his fault. He had played the biggest part in Dean's forced entry into premature adulthood. He was the heaviest weight on his big brother's shoulders. He was the older boy's biggest responsibility.

Sam didn't even know why the hell Dean did so much for him. He always tried to give back, but he knew it would never be enough.

Not only had he totaled his brother's prized-possession, he had hijacked Dean's entire childhood.

And he hated himself for it.

"Sam?"

That voice was completely unfamiliar and much closer than the teenager anticipated, causing him to flinch. The physical reaction, however minute, was enough to awaken Dean, his head snapping up off the mattress as he straightened up instantaneously – like a jack popping out of its box.

"Sam? Sweetie, I need you to focus on me."

Reluctantly, the injured boy dragged his hazel gaze over to the lady dressed in scrubs standing to his left.

"I just need you to answer a few questions for me."

Sam frowned, not appreciating being quizzed seconds after returning to consciousness, then again, the kid was born with bad timing so it certainly didn't surprise him that he happened to come-to at the same moment the nurse was checking him over.

"How's your breathing? Any tightness in your chest or other respiratory difficulty?"

Sam did recall having trouble acquiring air last time he had been conscious. He took a second to test his lungs, discovering none of the previous pain or restrictions. He reported his findings to the nurse with a nod.

"Good, that's good. I'm going to remove the oxygen mask and replace it with the nasal cannula instead and we'll see how you do on that. Does that sound good?"

Sam didn't know why she asked, because she certainly didn't wait for a response before making the switch. He did feel far less claustrophobic without the mask, but wasn't a fan of the tube blowing stale air up his nostrils, or the scratchy tape that was holding it in place.

"There we go, how's that?"

"S'kay." Sam croaked, inwardly cringing a how hoarse he sounded.

"Good. You suffered a pretty bad concussion, so I'm just going to ask you a few simple questions to make sure you're doing alright, before the doctor performs a more thorough evaluation. Do you understand?"

The teen nodded, feeling his anxiety rise and wishing he had more time to adjust to reality before being interrogated. Dean must have sensed his apprehension, because the grip the older boy had on Sam's right hand grew stronger.

"Can you tell me your name?" The nurse questioned.

Sam was certain that most patients would be relieved that she began the questionnaire with the easiest inquiry, but when your last name had to mirror the one on your ever-changing falsified health insurance, it tended to complicate things.

"Sam." The teen supplied simply, knowing his Dad and Dean always made sure to keep his first name the same, even in counterfeit documents.

"And your last name?" She prodded.

Sam pinched his lips, panic causing his heart to beat out of rhythm, if he fucked this up he could get them in serious shit. Saying the wrong name could get them tossed out of the hospital, or even put his brother in legal danger – something he refused to risk.

He looked to his right for help, hoping his big brother could save him…again.

"Don't worry about it, kiddo, just tell the nice lady what she wants to know." Dean instructed with a supportive half-smile as he gave Sam's hand another reassuring squeeze.

The teen glanced back over to his left, not meeting the nurse's eyes as he whispered his reply, his husky voice making it particularly difficult to hear.

"Winchester."

"And how old are you, Sam?"

By the lack of confusion, the injured child knew he must have been correct about his name, which was concerning in ways it shouldn't be.

"Sixteen." He rasped, eager to get the cross-examination over with and rid of the stranger in the room so he could speak privately with his big brother.

"Good. Do you remember what happened? Do you know why you're in the hospital?"

"Car accident." Sam croaked, self-recrimination surging through him at the confession.

"Yes. You came in here with a pretty bad concussion and a contusion—

"If you don't mind, ma'am. I'd like to give my brother the rundown." Dean interrupted, coming to a stand, rising to his full height, clearly asserting his dominance; all the while never releasing his little brother's hand.

The nurse didn't like that. Her nostrils flared, her eyes narrowed, and she practically clicked her heels. "I don't think that would be appropriate."

"I'm his guardian, it's my decision."

That tone was as familiar to Sam as the nose on his face. It was the protective-big-brother-tone that he had grown up listening to. He knew it was a tone that was not to be messed with - the nurse, however, was not nearly as knowledgeable.

"It would be best Sam learn about his injuries from a medical professional." She snapped.

The teenager tensed, wondering how bad his wounds must be for them to be arguing like this. He glanced down at himself, double checking that his limbs were all fully intact. His left shoulder was secured in a sling, he could feel a rather large bandage taped over his chest, and his left foot was wrapped up tightly.

Dean's grip grew impossibly tighter around Sam's right hand; the older boy no doubt sensing his little brother's tension, he had always had a strong sense of all things Sam.

"I will decide what's best for him." Dean practically growled, his long body rigid and ready for a fight.

If Dean didn't make Sam feel anything but safe, he would have been frightened of the dangerous gleam in the bright green eyes that held the promise of pain for the target of their gaze.

"I don't think—

"I don't give a shit what you think, he's my fucking kid!" Dean declared, his voice low and threatening booming and rolling through the room like thunder.

The nurse smoldered with indignation before marching off in a huff.

The elder Winchester's body was vibrating with rage as he tracked the threat's exit from the room, Sam tugged on his brother's hand, hoping to redirect his focus and ease his fury. Dean's outrage visibly faded as he angled back towards the smaller boy lying on the bed.

"Winchester?" Sam rasped, knowing his brother would understand the insinuated inquiry.

It took a moment for Dean to catch on, longer than it would usually take him but Sam was chalking up the delay to the older boy's obvious lack of sleep. The tall hunter proved his level of exhaustion by collapsing back into his chair, resting his arms on the mattress before zeroing in on Sam.

"Yeah, one of the EMTs has a kid in one of your classes, she knew your name and had it on the paper work before I could do anything about it, so there won't be any bogus health insurance this time around." Dean explained, a smirk playing on his lips.

As if Sam completely fucking up their meager finances was something to joke about.

A familiar calloused thumb rubbed over Sam's forehead, smoothing out the worry lines he figured must have been present.

"Cut it out, dude. We'll be fine. When they came looking for money I told them Dad was out of town and he would take care of it when he got back. Which is bullshit obviously, because I can't get the man to answer his goddamn phone. But the staff seemed to buy it, for now anyways."

Sam wasn't certain how long he had been out, but he could tell by the state of his brother that it had been at least a couple days.

"Sneak out?" He questioned, plenty familiar with how to properly execute a stealthy hospital escape.

"Eventually, but not yet. Not until the doc gets another look at you and writes me the proper prescriptions."

Sam sighed, flinching as the action caused a twinge of pain in his chest.

"Take it easy with the dramatic exhales, dude." Dean instructed with a sympathetic wince as he placed his hand on Sam's abdomen, cradling his sore chest.

"What's wrong with me?"

The worry lines on Dean's face – the ones that were becoming far too familiar – deepened as he responded.

"Your left foot was crushed, some of the tiny bones in it broke but nothing that won't heal in time, the doc didn't even have to cast it. He wrapped it in a tensor bandage and said you might have to use a cane until it's all healed because it's going to be difficult to walk on for a bit."

Sam nodded, inwardly scowling at the idea of limping around with a cane and how much extra ridicule that could potentially bring upon him in school.

"You smashed your head pretty good, but they cleaned it up and put in a few stitches."

Sam's eyes widened. "My hair?" He asked, attempting to reach up and touch it but being stopped by the unrelenting grip Dean had on his hand.

"Calm down, kid, it's fine. You have so many layers up there and they only had to shave off a little bit of the bottom one. You can't even tell."

Sam relaxed a little at the reassurance.

"And your shoulder is broken."

Sam gave a sleepy nod, knowing as much. "My chest?" He questioned through a yawn, feeling the bone-deep exhaustion that was beginning to fight for control and drag him back into unconsciousness.

Dean's expression became impossibly more subdued.

"Yeah, umm, well you broke a few ribs."

"How many?"

"Three."

The teen nodded, not surprised, he had been in agony.

"The doc had to perform surgery to fix them all." Dean practically whispered.

"Surgery?" Sam asked, the surprise rousing him out of his wearied state.

Dean cleared his throat, visibly collecting himself before he spoke. Sam may have been exhausted, but he didn't miss the emotions that flickered across his older brother's tired face; fear, guilt, misery, and distress.

"You had something called flail chest."

The boy in the bed squinted up at the young hunter, never having heard of such a thing before.

"It's what happens when you shatter a couple ribs and they break apart into pieces – which is why you were having such trouble breathing, because the fragmented bone was pressing down and restricting your lungs. Luckily, none of the pieces pierced your lungs, which the doc said would have happened if you had moved around at all."

"Guess it was a good thing I was stuck." Sam rasped with a smirk, hoping to extract some of the terror shining through the green gaze focussed down on him.

He had no such luck.

"Yeah, guess so. Anyway, they had to do surgery to screw your ribs back together, they used titanium plates, so you'll be setting metal detectors off for the rest of your life."

Sam did half a shrug with his good shoulder, not much caring about the new information, which probably had a lot more to do with his growing level of depletion and less to do with any actual feelings of apathy.

Dean must have identified the origins of his kid brother's lack of interest, because he stopped with the detailed explanations and skipped to the headline.

"You're going to be fine, little brother." He declared gruffly as he gently smoothed Sam's bangs off his forehead.

The youngest Winchester closed his eyes with a nod and a sigh, trusting his big brother and allowing himself to be lulled by the familiar feeling of Dean's fingers combing through his hair.

"Get some sleep, Sammy. I'll be here when you wake up."

As requested, Sam stopped fighting the fatigue trying to pull him into the darkness and allowed himself to succumb to his body's demands. He squeezed Dean's hand as he started to drift, offering the only form of comfort he had the energy to offer. The teenager felt his smaller hand being clutched in return and knew his message had been received.

When he woke up he would find a way to make everything up to Dean.

He would fix everything that he had damaged.

The Impala.

Dean's trust.

And his big brother's peace of mind.

Sam would find a way to repair it all.

Whatever it took.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I know, this is late. In my defense it was supposed to be a 2,000 word conclusion, but instead it ended up being longer than the first chapter - and editing is a bitch. Enjoy :)

* * *

Sam's slow return to consciousness, was accompanied by disjointed recollections.

He knew he was in the hospital and could recall being awake for awhile before and speaking with his brother. He could vaguely remember being filled in on his various injuries.

The memory of the car accident that had resulted in the hospital stay came back in an angry flash, followed by the cloudy arrival of his big brother. The last thing Sam could clearly recall was Dean's promise to be there when he woke up, which – of course - he was.

The teenager could hear the older boy's restless shoe-tapping and could feel a calloused finger tracing familiar patterns onto his palm.

"You awake, kiddo?" Dean questioned, though Sam knew that his brother had sensed his departure from dreamland even before the teen himself.

"Yeah." He rasped.

"Well how's about you open those stupid puppy-dog eyes of yours and prove it, eh?" The playful inquiry that doubled as a serious command was accompanied by a large hand gently rubbing Sam's abdomen.

The youngest Winchester had no choice but to comply to Dean's version of a request, it was pure instinct, developed by years of being raised by his big brother.

"Ah, there they are. There are those hazel weapons. Those things should be illegal, dude. Seriously, they're practically nuclear." Dean's words were flippant but his gaze was intense as it studied Sam.

"Got you free pie." The teenager mumbled.

The older Winchester's brow furrowed in concern, but only for a moment before he released a surprised chuckle.

"That's true. Your puppy-dog act got us more free dessert then we could ever hope to afford."

Sam smiled briefly before the reality of their financial situation slammed into him. His joy dissipated in a heartbeat as he was overcome with guilt and anxiety.

"Hey, what's going on? You in pain?" Dean asked, taking notice of the shift.

Sam shook his head, though he was feeling a vast amount of physical discomfort his emotional despair was far more poignant.

"What are we going to do?" Sam queried, cringing at how childish he sounded as his voice cracked and his eyes watered, emotion overwhelming him and trying to clog his throat.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, his face screwed up with concern as he squinted down at Sam, wearing his I-don't-know-what-the-hell-is-up-with-my-little-brother expression.

"What are we going to do about the money?" The teenager specified, all his past ambitions for independence abandoned as he reverted to being nothing more than a little boy who needed his big brother.

A kid who depended on and trusted Dean to take care of him.

A child who was happy to follow wherever his guardian lead.

Even though it was a role that had become rare for Sam to assume since he had become teenager, it was one he was still very familiar with.

Luckily, the role of leader was one that Dean was equally as familiar with, and twice as willing to take on.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy. I've got it taken care of."

Sam's face must have portrayed his lack of confidence, because Dean quickly elaborated.

"The doc checked you out a few hours ago while you were snoozing, he wrote the prescriptions you'll need and I already got them filled. He wanted to keep you around a few more nights, but they are on me about the health insurance, or lack thereof. I told them our dad was going to be here tomorrow, obviously that's bullshit, so we need to get out of here tonight. I already got the car sitting around the side of the building, was just waiting for you to wake up so we could duck out."

"Sorry." Sam responded automatically, knowing that every moment their departure was delayed was only escalating the risk of getting caught. The risk of being kicked out. The risk of being reported and put in deep legal trouble. The risk of being separated, which was the biggest risk of all; it had always been one of the youngest Winchester's greatest fears.

"Don't be sorry, dude. You went through fucking surgery, you're allowed to sleep as much as you damn well please. And you can get back to it as soon as I get you out of here. Alright?" Dean oozed remorse as he leaned down over the teenager, his eyes shining with apology for what Sam knew was about to be a very painful experience.

"Okay." Sam agreed, taking a moment to steel himself before nodding up to his hovering big brother who was awaiting the teen's consent before helping him move.

Dean removed the IV far more painlessly than any nurse ever had, he gently peeled off the nasal cannula that was taped to Sam's skin, and detached the heart monitor pinching the younger man's finger. The doctor must have removed the catheter during his visit while Sam was unconscious, thankfully – not that Dean hadn't ever had to help his little brother through completely humiliating processes, but at least he was being saved from this one. Once he was free of all the tubes and wires, Sam attempted to sit-up.

Big mistake.

He bit off a cry as he fell back against the mattress, or he would have if his brother's large steady hands hadn't eased his decent.

"Whoah, easy kiddo, take it easy."

Sam panted, trying to breath through the agony firing inside his chest. He felt his hand being pressed against something solid and warm, opening eyes he hadn't known he closed to see Dean pressing the teen's smaller hand against his chest.

"Breathe with me, dude, come on. Focus."

Sam felt the hunter's chest expand and did his best to force his own to mimic the movement.

"Doing good, Sammy." Dean encouraged.

Sam twitched a smile, feeling a calloused thumb swipe away the traitorous tears of pain that had slipped out past the teen's closed eyelids.

"What the hell do you think you were doing just popping up like that? Do you need me to run through your list of injuries again, because I will." Dean was going for frustrated, but Sam could hear the gruff concern plain as day.

"Sorry." Sam muttered miserably, loathing being so incapable.

"You don't need to be sorry, just slow the fuck down and let me help you."

"Well since you asked so nicely." Sam quipped.

Dean smirked, his eyes shining with something other than fear or concern. Sam felt pride surge through him, thrilled to provide his brother even the briefest moment of joy.

"Okay, Mr. Sarcastic, lets get you dressed, it's cold outside."

Sam frowned in confusion, wondering why Dean wouldn't be worried that someone would come in and catch them before they had the chance to make a break for it.

Dean must have read his mind, because he answered the question Sam didn't have the energy to pose.

"After writing your prescriptions the doc made a point of telling me there was a shift switch coming up and the new nurse on duty wouldn't get this far into her rounds for at least a couple hours. We've got time to get you out of that gown before we book it."

Sam nodded along, wincing as his head ached and watching as his brother slid a pair of scrub pants onto his legs.

"Jacked these from the breakroom." Dean commentated as he tapped the teen's hips, an age-old signal for Sam to lift them. He instinctively arched off the bed enough for the pants to be tugged into place, all the while knowing he wasn't going to be wearing his own pants because Dean had refused to leave his side the entire time he had been in the hospital. Not even for the length of time it would have taken to run back to the cabin and grab some pants. A fact which also explained the unkept state the twenty-year-old was in.

"We are going to sit you up nice and slow, kiddo." Dean warned before helping to leverage Sam off the mattress. The younger man gripped on to his brother's forearm as he panted through the pain pulsing through his torso. Dean allowed him a moment to ground himself, before breaking away from the teen's grasp and swiftly removing the flimsy hospital gown.

"This isn't the cleanest, but it will keep you warm." The young hunter explained as he slid Sam's good arm through his flannel shirt, taking the time to button it up at the front over top of the sling before the teen was swallowed by a familiar leather jacket.

"You're going to be cold." Sam warned, levelling his t-shirt clad older brother with a disapproving look, even as he huddled into the layers of warmth.

"I'll be fine." Dean dismissed tugging the coat together in the front. Sam's eyes followed Dean as he bent down, it was only then that he noticed that small splotches of red scattered across the front of the jacket. He figured it must be blood from his head, recalling how he had leaned forward into his brother's chest at some point before the ambulance had arrived.

He hadn't noticed the red stain on the zipper until he saw Dean's long fingers shake as they touched it.

There was no doubt in Sam's mind that his brother was extremely over tired, very low on blood sugar, and completely worn out – but he didn't think any of those were the reason for the current shake of the hunter's hands.

The teen watched Dean struggled with the simple mechanism for another moment before interceding.

"I can do it." He stated, his voice still sounding weak and scratchy, but his movements sure as he reached for the zipper.

"I got it." Dean insisted, even as his trembling fingers fumbled the blood-stained metal fastener once more.

"I'm sixteen years old, I can do it myself." Sam huffed, wondering why he was always accused of being the stubborn one when Dean could be just as difficult.

"You've only got one useful hand right now, dude." Dean reminded his little brother, as though the kid had forgotten about the dark blue sling restricting his movement.

Sam opened his mouth to argue when the zipper was finally connected to the track and pulled up to his chest.

It was then that the wheelchair made its appearance.

"Don't give me that look. You know there's no way you are making it out of here under your own steam."

Sam rolled his eyes at the parental declaration, knowing Dean would be exhibiting far worse behavior if he was about to be subjected to the humiliation of being pushed around like an invalid.

"Sam, I'm serious. This is happening."

Apparently, in his weakened state the teenager was far more transparent than usual.

"Can't you just help me walk?" The younger boy requested.

Dean's stern expression faded to something far more sympathetic as he bent down to be eye level with Sam.

"Not this time, buddy. You've busted bones and got stiches keeping you together. I don't want to mess with that and risk you getting anymore hurt than you already are." It may have been stated softly, but that didn't make it any less definitive.

Sam grunted, but offered no further protest except to release a surprised squawk as his brother swiftly picked him up off the mattress and placed him into the chair. He was wheeled rapidly through the hospital, the blur of movement making him nauseous so he closed his eyes and did his best to block it all out. The cold air hit him like a slap, the January wind stinging his exposed skin and causing him to turtle into the leather jacket.

He was surprised to see the Impala waiting for them in the parking lot. The windshield must have been replaced, but the driver's side window was no longer smashed but completely missing, in it's place was a cut of a clear plastic sheet taped to the frame. The side of the family vehicle was no longer completely concaved, but it still had a major dent in it. The paintjob was a mess, the familiar black coating was liberally tarnished, revealing the metallic grey beneath; there were also blue markings pattering the damaged side – no doubt the only thing left behind of the truck that collided with the classic car. The sight of all the damage stole Sam's breath and watered his gaze, it had him drowning in guilt. He worked to swallow the lump in his throat as Dean effortlessly transported him from the chair to the passenger seat. The last thing Sam wanted was to have an emotional meltdown.

Dean had dealt with enough.

"You doing okay?" The older boy asked as he crouched down next to the car and tucked a blanket around Sam's legs. It was the scratchy one from under the seat, but the extra layer did aid in warming him.

"Yeah." Sam whispered, thankful his brother had reclined the seat before placing him in it, but missing the padding the hospital bed had provided.

Sam had been promoted to the front of the Impala the very moment Dean had inherited the family vehicle, and in the past four – very nearly five - years the upholstery had molded to his slim form perfectly.

But now it put pressure on his pains and aggravated his aches.

He was sore all over.

Everything hurt.

Even his heart.

"Hey." The soft call captured Sam's attention and put a temporary hold on his stream of self-pity.

The teen looked down at the man who was practically seated in the footwell, staring up at him with green eyes full of concern, with a comforting grip on Sam's boney knee.

"You know we're going to have to leave town." Dean's statement was soft and sympathetic, he knew how Sam hated moving around, especially without warning; but there was no question in his words because it wasn't up for debate. They had to get away before the hospital connected the dots and sent the authorities looking. It was possible that wouldn't even happen, but it had before and the boys couldn't risk having people hunting them down to pay fees they had no hope in hell of ever affording.

Sam nodded his understanding, knowing that Dean was making the decision that was best for the both of them. Though, that didn't mean he hated it any less.

"Do we need to drop by your school first and pick anything up?"

But Dean did make Sam hate things a lot less.

The teen gave it a moment's consideration, he learned long ago not to leave anything of importance at school – his locker almost always sat completely empty – because he could never be one hundred percent sure that he would ever be able to return. He was more than a little disappointed he wouldn't be able to finish the project he had spent several days working on.

"No."

There was nothing.

Nothing that Sam needed.

Nothing that would be left behind to mark his presence.

No one that would remember he had been there.

No one that would notice his absence.

He was nothing more than a breeze passing through town; rustling the trees for a moment before vanishing, nothing more than a single fallen leaf left behind to signify its existence.

"I'll call your school tomorrow and give them the address to one of our PO boxes so they can send your transcripts and anything else you need."

Sam nodded along, Dean always thought of everything, no matter how menial it was. He thought of all the things John forgot, all the things Sam needed.

The older boy gave the skinny knee a comforting squeeze before he stood, closed the door, and moved swiftly around the front of the vehicle.

"We'll swing by the cabin and grab our stuff, and then hit the road." He stated as he dropped into the driver's seat.

"Straight away?" Sam croaked, a shiver of pain going through him at the mere thought of having to endure a road trip.

He regretted the simple inquiry as he watched Dean's face crumple and become very near mournful.

"Yeah, Sammy. The hospital might send people to collect what we owe and the cops were wanting to talk to you about the accident – I could stave them off while you were in an out of consciousness, but now that you're up and mobile I'm sure they'll come looking."

"Cops?" The teen wondered aloud, his eyes on his brother who was guiding the Impala out onto the road.

"Don't worry about it, dude. You weren't in trouble or anything, it's just better to keep the authorities out of our business."

"Kay." Sam rasped, paying enough attention to realize it was another thing that he didn't have to worry about it, because Dean had it taken care of.

Like he always did.

He was forever cleaning up every goddamn mess that Sam made.

It was so fucking unfair it made the younger boy sick just thinking about it.

"You okay up here? It's just until we get to the cabin and I can jack some pillows and blankets and get you set up in the back."

The teenager frowned, he didn't want to go to the back; he knew it would be more comfortable and that was Dean's intention, but a small part of Sam felt as though he was being punished by being demoted to the backseat. Not like he didn't deserve it. He left his brother in the cold and crashed the car. He betrayed Dean's trust. He would understand if the older boy never allowed him back up in the front seat ever again.

That didn't mean it wouldn't hurt.

But he would understand.

"Sammy?"

The teen realized he hadn't answered his brother's inquiry.

"It's fine. I'm fine."

"You let me know if it's too much." That was the first strict order Sam had heard come from his brother in some time, it made him twitch a grin, which was the rarest of reactions when it came to the stubborn teenager receiving demands.

He gave a slight nod, trying not to further agitate the throbbing in his skull.

Once they arrived at the cabin they were renting, Dean carried Sam inside and set him on the bed - so he wouldn't freeze waiting outside - strictly forbidding him to do anything stupid like try to help. Sam rolled his eyes, but reluctantly complied, not having the energy to move or the desire to incite Dean's motherly-wrath by doing so. Luckily, the boys never much bothered to unpack much, so the re-packing process was usually quite simple. The teen took notice to how careful his older brother was with his belongings and how he gathered them and placed them inside the duffel in a neat and organized manor, and how he did not take that same care with his own belongings, but rather haphazardly stuffed them in his bag.

Once, their duffel's and Sam's backpack were taken out to the car, the older boy returned and proceeded to strip the bed of anything soft, taking it to the Impala as well. When the room was cleared, it was Sam's turn to be loaded into the vehicle, which Dean made a joke of pointing out. The independent teenager hated to be handled and carried and he made that clear with his expression of displeasure, but he would be lying if he claimed that making the journey to the parking lot on his own would have been nearly as painless.

Dean had made a nest in the back seat, pillows lined the inside of the door and a blanket was spread across the bench seat, another one appearing the moment Sam was eased down to be spread over his lanky frame. The youngest Winchester tried to appear pleased - really he did - he knew that Dean had pulled out all the stops to provide the injured kid with the most comfortable road trip possible, but he still felt as though he were being punished. That distress must have shone through his mask of contentment, because Dean ducked into the back and was leaning towards him with a face full of concern asking what was the matter.

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"You're not. What is it?"

"I'm just tired. That's all."

Dean didn't appear to have bought such a lame excuse, but it placated him enough for the brothers to get on the road.

They didn't go far, only drove a few hours, not even making It out of state. Dean's decision to find a place to stay coincided rather suspiciously with the diminishment of Sam's hospital-grade medication.

The teen had done his best to conceal his discomfort, but his big brother's eyes had been damn near glued to the review mirror and Sam knew the older boy must have seen the pain he had worked to hide. The youngest Winchester would be lying if he claimed he wasn't beyond relived upon hearing Dean's announcement they would be pulling off the highway to find someplace to hunker-down shortly. Sam's agony mounted with every moment that went by, he hadn't realized just how much the pain medication had been helping until it began to fade. His shoulder was aching, his foot was throbbing in time with his skull, and his chest felt as though it was on fire. By the time they pulled in the parking lot of a hotel (that was much too nice for their measly finances) Sam was trying and failing to restrict the tears of pain that were traitorously sliding down his cheeks.

"The meds weren't supposed to start wearing off for another couple hours." Dean grunted, as he gently guided Sam across the bench seat towards the open door.

"M'sorry." The younger man mumbled as a flare-up in his chest caused a shutter to tare through him.

"Don't be stupid, that's not your fault. It is your fault for not fucking telling me it was getting so bad." Dean reprimanded, his voice stern, but his touch impossibly gentle as he lifted Sam from the vehicle, as though the sixteen-year-old weighed next to nothing.

"Didn't need to tell ya, you already knew." Sam pointed out between stuttered inhales as he was carried to the room his brother had just received the key for.

"That's because I was watching, because I know you and I know that even though I asked you to tell me if it became too much, there's a slim to none chance that you would ever do that. Because you're a stubborn little bitch." Dean lectured as he flawlessly unlocked their room door without jostling the teenager in his arms.

"Shuddup, Jerk." Sam quipped with a twitch of a smile as he tiredly allowed his head to fall against his brother's shoulder.

He felt the Dean's arms tighten every-so-slightly around him, making him feel impossibly safer and enabling forget about his pain for just a moment.

An incredibly brief moment, but a moment nonetheless.

Sam hissed through clenched teeth as he was placed down on the surprisingly soft mattress.

"Sorry." Dean apologized as he carefully extended the teenager's stick legs and then moved up to stack more pillows at Sam's back to properly support him.

"S'not your fault." The teen moaned as he tried to relax into his cushioned backrest.

"Don't move. I'll be right back." The twenty-year-old promised, giving Sam's right knee a brief squeeze and waiting for his little brother's nod of understanding before rushing back out to the car.

He returned with their duffels and then once again with the first aid kid, a white paper bag, and a grey cane. Dean kicked the door shut, locking it in place and stopping off the adjust thermostat, before making his way over to the slender frame stretched out on the bed.

"Where'd you get that?" Sam queried, eying the walking aid, not the least bit excited about having to utilize it in the very near future.

"The pharmacy at the hospital, I picked it up when I got your prescriptions filled." Dean explained as he discarded the medical supplies on the bedside table, before snagging a cushioned chair that was sitting over by the window and dragging it back towards Sam.

Dean slowly eased his own jacket and shirt off the teenager, who managed to release nothing more than a wince or two. The elder Winchester gently readjusted the injured boy's sling into the most comfortable possible position, before guiding him back against the stack of pillows.

"I'm going to take a quick look at the incision." Dean reported, standing to gain better access to the bandage, which he deftly removed.

Sam glanced down at himself, spotting for the first time the evidence of the surgery he had endured. The laceration was thin but incredibly long. It trailed from above Sam's belly button to very near his left collarbone with additional cuts at both ends that traced half the width of the pale chest. Sam's stomach flipped as he realized the pattern of the incision would suggest that his skin was first sliced and then peeled backwards to reveal his insides.

He swallowed back the bile that began climbing up his throat and just when he thought he was going to have to surrender to the nausea, a large hand cupped his jaw and guided his head up and to the right.

"Eyes up, Sammy." The words were strict but soft, which was the recipe to the majority of Dean's demands – unless he was scared and then everything tended to sound like anger.

"Didn't know it was that bad." Sam admitted, attempting to glance back down at the injury, but his brother blocked his view before he could get a second look.

"They had to use titanium to put the pieces of your ribs back together. It was pretty fucking bad." Dean confessed, being uncharacteristically blunt about Sam's injuries.

The teenager's discouragement must have portrayed itself quite clearly, because his big brother was quick to continue.

"It _was_ bad, but you're going to be just fine. Your doc even had a lot of experience with plastic surgery and made the stiches real small and tight – he said it probably won't even scar that bad."

"That bad?" Sam croaked, because he wasn't enough of a freak already, why not keep adding scars until he looked like another one of Dr. Frankenstein's fucked-up creations?

" _If_ it does scar, it will be so light and then you'll barely be able to see the damn thing." Dean declared, sounding confident, but Sam was never sure how much of that was real and how much was faked for his benefit.

"Kay." He rasped, trying to settle his mind and allow himself to be comforted by his brother's reassurances.

"Now why don't you just put your head back and count the watermarks on the ceiling why I spread some disinfectant on this sucker before I rebandage it?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but complied willingly enough, letting his noggin fall back as he stared listlessly at the bland white ceiling.

"Fuck." Sam cursed through a gasp as the sting of an ointment was spread nimbly over his laceration. He flinched at the contact and fought to keep from pulling away, which was made easier by the calloused hand that pressed along the undamaged side of his chest and held his tremoring frame in place.

"Just give it a minute, buddy. Just a minute." Dean's gruff, yet unmistakeably tender tone, penetrated the agony avalanching its way through Sam's body.

As per usual, big brother was right, and less then a sixty seconds later the cool tempered ointment began to numb the laceration.

"That's my boy." The elder Winchester whispered, running his thumb gently across the teen's right ribs before returning his attention to rebandaging the incision.

A rush of warmth caused by his brother's praise, overwhelmed the lingering pain and chased it away, allowing Sam to relax once again into his soft surroundings.

"Huh." He mused aloud.

"What?" Dean asked distractedly as he cut a new bandage with a pair of sterilized scissors.

"There's no water spots on the ceiling." Sam observed, double-checking his observations were correct and failing to recall the last time he had seen a motel ceiling that wasn't littered with moisture stains or other evidence of poor building upkeep. Hell, Sam could barely remember any place they had stayed that didn't have any signs of damage on the ceiling – even Bobby's ceiling had odd divots and water spots.

"Seriously?" Dean asked, cutting a strip of medical tape before glancing up, surveying the above surface for a moment before releasing an amused snort. "I knew this motel was nicer than our usual digs, but I didn't think it'd be this nice. The heat seems to be working alright too, which is a nice change fore once."

Sam huffed a short laugh.

"I guess it's pretty sad how low our standards are." Dean added as he secured the stack of gauze in place over the younger boy's chest.

Sam shook his head, though that was a statement he would usually second, he didn't quite agree with the context this time around. "This is a nice place by anyone's standards, not just a Winchester." He proclaimed, looking around, intentionally observing his surroundings for the first time since entering the building.

The room was nice, no heinous colours or shag carpet. Its off-white walls weren't marked-up or stained in the least and were decorated with nice scenic images in frames. There was a kitchenette that was more spacious than the full-fledged kitchens Sam could remember having in previous apartments or even houses that they had rented in the past. The counter tops looked fancy and the few appliances looked to be new or at least only a couple years old. There was an eating area with a table that appeared sturdier that most others the teenager could remember doing his homework at, and the chairs all had fabric on them and didn't look to be the tiniest bit rickety. From what Sam could spot through the open door, the bathroom looked like one of the cleanest he had ever laid eyes on. The sink didn't protrude from the wall but was secured in a vanity and had countertop space and storage beneath it. The floor tile was pristine white, not the usual cracked and miscoloured nastiness that the Winchester boys had grown accustomed to.

Even the television was nice, it was large and had to be one of the newest models – Sam could tell the picture would be clear and colourful when the turned it on, instead of the grainy distorted screen they were used to watching.

Upon inspection, Sam realized something that he was surprised he hadn't noticed upon arrival, there was only one bed. It was a large queen bed, comfy as ever with more pillows on it than the teen could count – mostly because he knew at least half of them were stuffed behind his back – and soft bedding that smelt of flowery fabric softener.

"One bed?" Sam queried, out of nothing more than curiosity.

"Yeah. Turns out these nicer joints tend not to have as many rooms available. This is the best I could do."

The teenager's heart clenched at his older brother's apologetic tone.

Like Dean hadn't done enough.

Like he hadn't done fucking everything for Sam.

"It's great, Dean. Really. A lot better than the cabin and the hospital, but you didn't have to get somewhere so nice." The youngest Winchester assured with half a smile.

The twenty-year old looked over at his brother as he packed the medical supplies back into the kit.

"We needed some place clean for you to recover. The last thing we need to worry about is you getting an infection from some germ-infested hole-in-the-wall." Dean growled, as though the mere thought of such a circumstance was pissing him off.

"Can we afford it?" Sam inquired timidly, his older brother was never a fan of questions having to do with finance. As the teen knew he would, Dean clenched his jaw and looked away and he moved to set the medkit on the table – giving the simple task an unnecessary amount of attention.

"We wouldn't be here if we couldn't, Sam." The elder Winchester responded curtly.

Sam chewed on his bottom lip, twitching in discomfort as he inwardly berated himself for aggravating his big brother. A moment later Dean returned to his side with a glass of water, exchanging it for the paper bag of pills on the bedside table, which Sam could tell by sound alone because he never bothered to look up from where he was picking dried flakes of blood off the tips of his fingers.

"We are going to get you drugged up and cleaned up – then you can get some shut-eye." Dean declared, lightly smacking Sam's right hand away from the one dangling out of his sling.

Sam nodded along with the game plan, much more eager for the first part of it than the rest.

"Here, get your meds out - there should be two bottles in there – while I go grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom."

The paper sack landed on the teen's lap as the older boy made his way over to the bathroom. Sam used his one operational arm to unroll the bag and remove its contents. He heard the tap turn running as he completed the simple task, he was in the process of flattening and folding the paper to be disposed of, when he caught sight of the writing on the front. There was a large printed sticker that had his name, the contents of the bag, and the price clearly typed out across it.

The numbers positioned after the dollar sign sent Sam's stomach churning.

$345.00

There was no way in hell they could afford that.

Guilt flooded through the youngest Winchester so quickly he felt as though he was going to drown.

Not only had he destroyed Dean's most prized possession, he was stealing away every drop of his brother's money. The money that he had earned working a shitty job, the cash he had collected by spending eight hours a day doing menial tasks that he hated, and he was having to spend it all on his stupid little brother who couldn't do one fucking thing right to save his goddamn life?

Sam hadn't realized he was still staring down at the flattened paper bag until it was abruptly snatched away, crinkled into a ball, and thrown across the room.

The teenager looked up at his brother, but the bright green gaze avoided his own as Dean dropped into the chair at his side. The long frame was keyed up and the scruffy jaw was clenched as the older boy doled out the proper dosage for each medication before handing them to Sam, who – even with water – had trouble swallowing them along with the ball of emotion lodged in his throat.

"Finish the water." He instructed, without even shifting his focus from running the warm cloth over spots of dried blood or sweat on the pale abdomen and chest.

Normally, the head-strong teenager would begrudge the order, but he knew his brother was just looking out for him and after everything Dean had done there was no way in hell Sam was going to think a single thought against him.

"The nurse gave you a sponge-bath the other day, but she did a shit job with it and wouldn't let me takeover. I'm just going to wash off all the shit she missed and then we can get you in some warm clothes."

Sam cringed at the thought of being bathed by a stranger, or anyone for that matter.

"Relax, you prude, she kept you covered." Dean assured with a roll of his eyes, smirking over at Sam before returning his attention to scrubbing at a particular stubborn patch of dried blood on the teen's left hip.

Sam quirked an embarrassed smile, which fell quickly as he recalled the conversation he knew he needed to have with his big brother. His eyes skimmed over his concentrated older brother before lowering, finding a loose thread on his sling that he began to pick at.

"How long are we going to stay here for?" He inquired softly, glancing through his bangs.

"A few weeks at least, maybe a month – whatever time you need to recover enough to travel again." Dean responded with a shrug.

"Dad okay with that?"

Another shrug.

"Left messages telling him where we'd be, I told Bobby too in case he gets in contact with Dad. Of course Bobby offered to have us come stay with him, but I wasn't about to trek you out that far. I'm sure Dad will meet us here if he ever checks his damn phone."

Sam pulled one thread loose and started in on the next, swallowing thickly before speaking.

"We can't stay that long." He muttered.

Dean paused his ministrations, Sam could feel eyes on him, but he didn't dare look up.

"And why the hell not?"

"They'll figure out the credit card is fake, if it doesn't get maxed out first. It's not safe to stay that long." Sam remarked.

"That'd be true, if the room was on a fake card."

The teenager looked up at that, brows furrowed in confusion. "But we can't afford it."

The declaration caused Dean to visibly bristle.

"Yes, Sam, we can. I even got a bit of a deal by paying for the next two weeks in advance."

"How?"

"With cash, doofus."

"How did you have any left?

"You do know I wasn't spending all that time at the grocery store for kicks, right? I got paid for that shit."

Usually, Sam would roll his eyes when being presented with such thick sarcasm, but he was still struggling to figure out how the brothers could afford so much.

"The medication was too much. You shouldn't have bought it."

"I didn't have much of a choice, Sam. I tried to lift what we needed but that hospital was fucking Fort Knox and the last thing I wanted was to get caught stealing and leave you in that room…without me."

The word _alone_ was left unsaid, but the younger boy heard it loud and clear.

Because that was one of Sam's greatest fears after all, one he knew his big brother shared.

Being alone.

"And I couldn't use the fake insurance because your name was already all over the paper work and your prescriptions are both for Sam Winchester, not Sam Baker." Dean explained.

"You shouldn't have spent all that money."

"What else was I supposed to do? You need the meds." Dean nearly growled, his frustration clearly on the rise.

"They're too expensive." Sam pointed out, knowing his argument wouldn't mean much, but unable to resist making it regardless.

His mouth was always getting him into trouble.

"Shut the fuck up, Sam!" Dean snapped, launching to his feet and chucking the cloth in his hand at his chair before he began pacing around the room. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"It's too much." The younger boy defended his point of view, his voice not reaching near the level of his brother's due to the pain his chest was in.

"What's the alternative? You go without?"

"I can handle it." Sam declared with a nod, portraying a conviction he did not feel in the least. He didn't know if he could handle the agony the meds were easing, but he knew that he would if it meant his big brother didn't have to sacrifice everything, again.

"This isn't fucking training, dude. No amount of stupid stubborn Winchester determination is going to heal you from this! Your fucking ribs were _shattered_! Your goddamn chest had to be screwed back together to keep from crushing your fucking lungs! You had to be sliced open and pieced back together like fricken Humpty Dumpty. You had a fucking tube jammed down your throat for nearly twenty-four hours. And you coded two fucking times on the goddamn table during your surgery!" Dean shouted, waving his arms about as he paced back and forth, his body shaking with what appeared to be rage, but Sam knew was simply unchecked emotion.

The younger boy opened and closed his mouth a time or two before realizing he had no idea what to say in the face of his big brother's unravelling display of anger-plated distress.

"We weren't able to stay in the hospital as long as you should have been there, so when the doc prescribes you medication and one is to keep you from getting an infection that could kill you and the other is to help with the pain in a way that the lame-ass T3's in our medkit wouldn't even fucking touch, you can bet your ass that I'm going to do whatever it takes to get you those fucking pills." Dean declared in a growl as he stomped to a stop next to the bed.

Sam knew he had to find something to say, he knew his big brother would stand there all day and wait if he had to.

"I didn't know that I coded during the surgery." He commented softly, his tone apologetic as he began to understand where Dean's fear and frustration were originating from.

"Yeah, well that's because I didn't think it was necessary to freak you out by telling you that. I was stupid enough to figure that rattling off your list of injuries would be more than enough for you to realize how serious it all was. But apparently not. Apparently, you're only allowed to have medication if your fucking heart stops beating. I'll try to remember that." Dean bit out bitterly.

Sam dropped his gaze, feeling deservedly chagrinned. His big brother had been through hell and instead of making things easier on him, Sam was forcing him to defend his financial decisions.

He heard Dean shuffling around the room and unzipping both duffels and routing through them, but he never bothered to raise his eyes. Soon his brother had returned to the head of the bed and was feeding Sam's right arm through a warm sleeve.

"You're shivering." The older boy declared as he maneuvered the teen into the sweater, pulling it over his gimp arm and zipping the warm fabric up all the way. He was matter of fact about trading the hospital bottoms for a warm pair of sweat pants, his touch was firm but always gentle as he pulled the soft material carefully over Sam's injured foot and up into place around his waist.

Pain faded from Sam's body as his injuries were no longer disturbed by the tremors he had been too preoccupied to take much notice of.

The sweater was his brother's, Sam didn't have any zip-up ones. It was warm and large enough to comfortably cover his busted shoulder. The pants belonged to the younger boy, Dean only had a single pair of sweats and they were thin with a hole in the knee.

The thick comforter was pulled up over the teen's thin frame, before the taller man picked up the warm cloth before dropping back into the chair. Dean tugged Sam's hand away from where it was fiddling with the blanket, and pulled it towards him.

The elder Winchester began to scrub away the red stains on Sam's fingers, the younger man nearly insisted he could do that on his own, before quickly recalling that his entire left limb was incapacitated in a sling at the moment. He stared at the top of his brother's head as Dean ran the damp and soapy cloth over the dried blood on his right hand.

"Do you know why talking about money makes me so—

"Pissed off?"

" _Irritated_."

"Because we never have enough." Sam shrugged, venturing a guess, never really sure of why financial inquiries angered his big brother in such a way.

Dean snorted. "Sure seems like it, don't it?"

The teenager shrugged again, his right shoulder elevating and falling as his left remained perfectly still.

"It's because I don't like you worrying about it."

Sam frowned.

"You've always worried too much about money, even since you were three fricken feet tall."

"So have you." The youngest Winchester replied, knowing that financial support had been on his big brother's shoulders for far too fucking long.

"Yeah, but not like you. You get anxious and stress and start feeling all guilty and shit. You don't eat enough and you lose sleep and you damn near torture yourself over it. Besides, you're still just a kid, Sammy, you shouldn't even be thinking about how much cash we've got hanging around. You should be worried about your next pimple, or not stuttering through a conversation with a girl, or getting an A on your next paper, not our finances." Dean elaborated, his tone low and passion-filled as he diligently scrubbed at dried blood caked beneath his younger brother's finger nails.

"I'm hardly a kid anymore, Dean." Sam stated, thinking of the monsters he had faced.

"Trust me, dude, I know. I know exactly how fast you had to grow up." Dean admitted mournfully, his gaze rising to meet Sam's, grief pouring from the bright green orbs.

"Which wasn't your fault." The smaller Winchester proclaimed vehemently.

Dean's eyes dropped back down to Sam's dirtied finger nails, as he shook his head.

"De—

"I can't protect you from this life, man."

The remark was shockingly honest and the type of thing Sam had long been prompting his brother to admit…and yet, finally hearing it sent a strike of paralyzing fear through the younger man.

He felt like he couldn't breathe.

Like his heart had stopped beating – for what was apparently the third time that week.

Like his entire world was crashing down around him.

"Hey!" The gruff snap burst through Sam's panicked state of mind.

He blinked a few times, bringing his fading universe back into focus.

"I didn't mean it that way." Dean declared forcefully, something very near shock painted across his expression.

"What? Then how—

"I can protect you from every goddamn thing that goes bump in the night, and every sick human scumbag, and every well-meaning CPS dumbass, and every one of those fucktard teenagers the gets in your face – when you bother to tell me about them. I can protect you from all that shit and I _always_ will. That is never going to change, no matter what."

And just like that, Sam could breathe again.

His world had been righted once more.

He needed a moment to recover from the whiplash, but his attention never wavered from his big brother.

"What I meant, was that I can't protect you from the hunting life. The endless training and fighting one monster after another with barely any time to breathe. The moving from town to town and state to state and school to school. The lack of money and stuff and stability. The lack of fucking everything. I can't save you from all of that." Dean confessed with his head down, as though it was his dirty secret, something to be ashamed of.

"You're not supposed to save me from that. That's our life, Dean. That's our family's life. That's what we do. It's not on you to protect me from how we live our lives. That's not your job."

Sam nearly rolled his eyes as he watched his brother shake his head again. It didn't matter how fiercely Sam worked to absolve his big brother of all the misplaced guilt he carried, there were some messages he knew would never get through. But that would never stop him from trying.

"I'm not so sure about that—

"Come on, man—

"But what I do know, is that even though I can't save you from all the garbage that comes with this hunting life, I can take the money side of things off your plate."

"But you don't need to. I can handle it." Sam insisted.

"Of course you can. This isn't about you being incapable, you were practically born responsible. This is about me taking care of this one thing. I can't control a lot and I can't protect you from all the things I wish I could, but I can take care of the money. I can save you from having to carry and stress and worry about this one thing. Let me have this, Sammy."

The teenager was at a loss, he wanted to give his brother what he was requesting, but inside he railed against the idea of placing more weight onto the heavy load Dean already carried on his shoulders.

"It's too much, Dean, you can't ask me to put that all on you."

"You're not putting anything on me, Sam. You're just allowing me to take something off you. Both of us don't need to carry this."

The earnest statement filtered through to the battle playing out in Sam's mind. He wanted so badly to give Dean what he was requesting, but he was also desperate to alleviate his big brother of some of the burdens and responsibilities that plagued his life.

"It's not fair for you." Sam declared.

Dean adamantly shook his head. "You carry enough, Sammy. More than enough. More than anyone else your age or any age should ever have to. Between all the research you're always doing and the training and the hunting and everything else that comes along with the family business, on top of school and everything else – you shoulder a ton. You might not see how much you carry, but I do, and it's a lot. Just let me take this one thing."

Sam worked to swallow the rock of emotion that was trapped in his throat as he blinked the moisture from his eyes, shaking his head.

"It's what I want, Sam. I can take care of the money, even better now then when we were younger, I can take care of it. I _want_ to take care of it."

Sam shook his head again, his jaw clenching as his internal war proceeded to rage, his instincts fighting each other at a head-spinning rate.

Dean took a breath, Sam's half-cleaned fingers still in his grip as he appeared to be thinking before he began to speak again, his words slow and his tone patient.

"You stressing about our finances, worries me more than the actual state of our funds. Letting me take care of the cash wouldn't be adding anything else on me, it would takin something off. I wouldn't have to worry about you feeling all anxious or guilty over something as stupid money. It would make things better for both of us, Sam. That's the truth."

"How can I not feel guilty when it's my fault?" Sam croaked.

His brother's face scrunched up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's my fucking fault!" Sam attempted to shout, but was only able to accomplish a rasp – his voice having been absolutely wrecked since he awoke in the hospital (something he assumed had to do with the tube that had apparently been jammed down his airpipe).

Dean looked ready to argue, by Sam snatched his hand from his brother's loose grasp and waved it about as he proceeded to speak.

"We have to stay in this expensive place cause of me, because _my_ cut could get infected. You had to buy those pills because I got fucking hurt. We had to leave town and leave your job because I screwed up. You will have to spend so much money on the Impala because I fucking crashed it! The only thing you own and I wrecked it. You trusted me and I destroyed everything and now you have to _pay_ for all of it with all the money _you_ earned. It's all my goddamn fault!" Sam's voice was nearly absent by the end of his rant, guilt gnawing him raw and forcing tears from his eyes.

Dean was silent, the only sounds to be heard in the room was the teenager's harsh breathing.

Sam couldn't bring himself to meet the green eyes he knew would be studying him. He was so afraid of any hint of betrayal, disappointment, or condemnation that could be hidden in that familiar gaze.

He could handle that from himself and even from his father, but not Dean.

Please, God, not Dean.

No matter how much he deserved it, he knew it would break him.

It would shatter him like no one and nothing ever could.

A familiar hand cupped Sam's left jawline and forced his face up towards his big brother.

"You must have hit your head a hell of a lot harder than I thought."

The seemingly off-topic statement piqued the teenager's interest and he met the green eyes that were staring down at him. The eyes that held not betrayal or disappointment, but rather shone with concern and compassion.

"The accident was not your fault, and none of the expanses that came along with it were your fault."

"But—

"Some drunk fucktard t-boned you. It wasn't your choice or your fucking fault." Dean proclaimed, one of his hands clenching in what Sam could easily recognize as channelled aggression.

"Drunk?" The teen wondered aloud, the new information sidelining his argument.

Dean's jaw clenched as he nodded. "The police found the bastard about a block away, he crashed into a pole, they said his blood-alcohol level was off the charts."

"They arrest him?" Sam assumed.

"The would have if he hadn't been dead."

"Dead?" The younger man inquired, eyebrows raised.

Dean nodded. "Lucky bastard." He growled.

"Lucky?"

"That jagoff was a dead man the moment he slammed into you and then drove off and left you to fucking die. He's lucky as hell that telephone pole took him out before I could get my hands on him."

The passionate declaration would have almost been funny, if Sam thought for the briefest moment that his big brother was being anything but completely serious.

Dean would kill for him, of that the youngest Winchester had always been frighteningly aware.

It was a fact of Sam's life that his brother would do anything to keep him safe, that there were no lines Dean wouldn't sprint across in order to protect him.

Sam knew he didn't deserve that kind of love or devotion, but not a day went by where he didn't appreciate it – as scary as it was.

Knowing full well that the person you loved most in the world would willingly destroy themselves to keep you safe, was both a gift and a curse; it was as terrifying as it was reassuring and was something Sam struggled with often, but never stopped being grateful for.

"What that piece of shit did, is not on you, Sam, and neither is the fallout."

Sam nodded, because it seemed like the only reasonable thing to do.

"And for future reference, our money problems never will and never have been your fault. You're not to blame for money that needs to be spent – you're not an expensive kid, Sammy. You don't ask for a fucking single thing that you don't need or that is too much. You're a cheap-date, kid, I promise." Dean said with a playful wink.

Sam shook his head with a smirk.

"And if you choose to let me take care of the money-side of things, you won't be giving me anymore to carry. You'll be letting me take care of us, take care of you, one of the few ways I still can. It's what I want. Hell, if I had it my way, I'd be looking after our funds from here on out until your sixty-years-old and have to start buying Viagra." Dean claimed with a chuckle.

"Gross, Dean." Sam whined, his face screwed up in disgust.

"Unless you're still a prude at that age." He added, re-capturing the younger man's right hand.

Sam rolled his eyes, allowing his brother to return to scrubbing away the stubborn remnants of dried blood on his fingers.

Nearly a minute went by of Sam staring distractedly at the top of his brother's head before Dean suddenly looked up and spoke.

"Seriously, Sam, none of it is your fault. Not the car, or the hospital, or this room, or the meds, or the fucking money, _none_ of it. You got that?"

The familiar green eyes stared imploringly at the boy on the bed, they begged him to agree, believe, and understand.

And to his own surprise, Sam found himself caving to his brother's plea.

His heart wasn't fully in it perhaps, but for Dean's sake, Sam nodded.

A relieved smile brightened the worried face.

"Good. It's about damn time." The elder Winchester quipped with a grin, before returning his attention to Sam's right hand.

The teenager felt his anxiety and fear fall away, but the guilt remained.

He would do what he could to make things right for Dean, regardless of how unnecessary his big brother might believe it to be. Sam owed him and would figure out a way to repay him, at the very least for the damage he did to the Impala; after which he would ponder his brother's insistence about their finances.

But not now.

Now he would allow himself to heal.

He would do as his brother wished until he was better, because he couldn't help Dean while he was still injured.

Sam smiled as his brother began chatting about some 'batshit crazy customer' who made a scene in the grocery store a few days ago.

He didn't pay a great deal of attention to the words – the pain meds already blanketing his world with a foggy haze, but he allowed the familiar tone to surround him.

He breathed in the familiar scent of m&m's and aftershave coming from the sweater he was wrapped in.

He focussed on the familiar calloused fingers gently gliding a warm cloth across his skin.

He gazed at the familiar freckled face that glanced between him and his hand.

He met the familiar green gaze that promised love and security.

He embraced the familiar feeling of peace and contentment.

Because even being injured and in a new place, there was still Dean.

There was always Dean.

Dean was familiar.

Dean was comfort.

Dean was safety.

Dean was love.

Dean was home.

And the best place to heal, for Sam, had always been home.

_The End_

* * *

Note: Hopefully this long-ass second chapter was worth the wait. Please review/comment if you have a moment - I don't always get to replying but they mean the world to me, I always keep them saved on my phone and read them again when I need some encouragement to keep writing. :)

The next chapter of _A New Kind of Evil_ is very much a continuation of this fic and I think ya'll are going to love it as much as I do, so get ready!

Thanks for reading! - Sam


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